


Ustulation

by DoraTLG



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, D/s, Gun play, M/M, Masochism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sadism, alcohol involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6211111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoraTLG/pseuds/DoraTLG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So what's it gonna be?" he asked in his lowest voice. "Blowing your brains out..." he cocked the gun, the sound loud in the silent room. "... or fucking it out of your pretty head?"</p><p>"Cheesy, 007," Q taunted.</p><p>Bond was quick and brutal, gripping Q's dark hair with his free hand and pulling it so hard Q's whole body bent like a taut bow, only his arse and his shoulders now on the mattress. The cold barrel pressed against his throat.</p><p>"Really?" he growled. Q whimpered. He could feel Bond's erection pressed against his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ustulation

**Author's Note:**

> Ustulation - a burning lust
> 
> Or one night before Bond goes off to a mission, Q awaits him to give them both something to remember by.
> 
> inspired by this beautiful gif found on an even more beautiful blog: http://45.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lt4pkafzdF1r3tiwzo1_500.gif
> 
> http://boyslookinghurt.tumblr.com

"Q, what are you doing?"

Bond's voice was cautious above anything else, but dealing with his Quartermaster taught him that caution was rarely needed even in situations like this, at least not aimed at the young man's life. So he stood still in the door of their (yes, now their, he was still trying to accommodate to that thought) bedroom, his tired libido slowly waking up. These games were quite common, and after the first shock, seeing the gun at Q's chin, idly aimed, loaded even, his senses started picking up on other things. Q was naked apart from his black briefs, the dim light drawing contours on his lithe body, and the bottle of whiskey just next to his hip - Bond's mouth started watering, who knows due to which, if the liquid or the man - was a clear indicator of where the night started and where it was heading. Bond leaned against the door frame and folded his arms.

"What does it look like?" asked the Quartermaster, a cocky half grin playing on his mouth. Bond was now openly mapping his sinuous body with an appreciative eye.

"It looks like you're about to blow your brains out," he said calmly.

"What about you blowing my brains out?"

Bond looked him in the eyes a second before shoving off the frame and walking to the bed. He straddled his lover's thighs and looked at the bottle, assessing how much missed of it and how much it takes for Q to feel alcohol, which was an impressive amount, actually, but could never match the agent's tolerance. He took the bottle, unscrewed the lid, and downed the whole thing.

Q watched as the older man's throat worked, his lethal body relaxed but straightened, the radiant power in it lax but always there, and his hips shot upwards, rubbing against the clothed arse of his best agent. Bond finished the bottle and sent it flying across the room, only the thick glass saving it from shuttering against the wall.

The gun turned upwards and now the barrel was just an inch from Bond's throat. They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, assessing each other, and then Bond's hands took the gun so quickly Q had only the time to suck in air in surprise and, to be honest, arousal, when suddenly Bond was holding it in his solid grip, aimed at Q's head.

"So what's it gonna be?" he asked in his lowest voice. "Blowing your brains out..." he cocked the gun, the sound loud in the silent room. "... or fucking it out of your pretty head?"

"Cheesy, 007," Q taunted.

Bond was quick and brutal, gripping Q's dark hair with his free hand and pulling it so hard Q's whole body bent like a taut bow, only his arse and his shoulders now on the mattress. The cold barrel pressed against his throat.

"Really?" he growled. Q whimpered. He could feel Bond's erection pressed against his stomach.

"Shoot it," he whispered, challengingly. Bond's grin was almost feral. He moved, aligning their crotches and thrusting slowly. Q's eyes shut under the stimulation.

"Oh, I will," promised the agent. The gun disappeared, clunking against the floor, and the coldness of its touch on Q's throat was replaced by Bond's hot mouth.

"Fuck!" 

The open kiss turned into a sharp bite and Q hissed, his body convulsing.

“Language,” growled the agent into the soft skin.

“Hardly fair,” remarked Q, but he knew that this game was very quickly turning very unfair towards him, and he could do only so much to slow it down. Well, he could stop it altogether, but where was the fun in that?

Bond's strong body on top of him was heaving on him, making it hard to breathe, but that only served to ground him. He loved feeling those strong muscles, the power to squash him like a bug, loved the grace with which Bond moved, with which he killed – and that part of him wasn't waisted on the young Quartermaster, not one minute of the time he spent with the agent.

Two thick fingers pushed roughly into his mouth and, knowing that this would be the only lubrication he would get apart from the extra lubricated condoms they used, he covered them in enough saliva that they were dripping on that short journey they had from his mouth to his thighs. He spread his legs and Bond pushed in.

His body tensed again and he let out a pained groan when both fingers entered him at once. He liked that pain. They both knew that anything short of drawing blood was alright in that area, and the only problem with actually making him bleed was that the pain during sex was a completely different kind of pain that the one he had to go through days after, in work and on the toilet. But Q couldn't even remember the last time they did it properly, and when they used lube, it was only to allow them to be even rougher.

He was panting now, not even realizing that the pained little whimpers echoing in the room were coming from him. Bond shut them up with his mouth and Q gratefully opened up to the hot tongue, still tasting after whiskey. Kissing Bond was like drinking, every gulp making you dizzy and hot, and you don't really like the taste of it, but can't stop.

Suddenly the fingers were gone and Bond's mouth let Q make all the sounds he wanted – pained gasps and regretful whimpers mostly – and the agent reached for the bedside table, taking one of the condoms. Before he put it on, though, he lifted himself enough to give Q space to turn, but didn't give him the time, instead grabbing his hair and yanking at it, twisting Q's head into the pillows. Q complied, following it with his body.

He was hard, and not surprisingly. He remembered – not in this moment, in this moment he remembered nothing at all – how once his friend told him that he hated that in porn all the stars remained an erection while being penetrated, because the pain he went through, even with enough preparation, always made him soft. That blew Q's mind. He was only eighteen at the time and, even though he understood he was a masochist and not everyone thrived on physical pain as much as he did, he was sorry for anyone who didn't. Sex was so much easier that way. So now, as he lay in the soft covers, his cock leaking into the fitted sheet, he wasn't dreading what had to come.

Soon enough, Bond pushed in.

“Shit!” Q shouted and buried his face in the pillow, hyperventilating. Bond's hot breath was on his ear, his slight groans barely audible. Q was going crazy, because the burning pain was leaving him breathless, but the need to feel more was almost overwhelming.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...”

And Bond did. He started with slow motions that quickly gave way to a brutal rhythm that had Q squirm in agony, but his cock was brushing against the mattress and he was so close, he could come if it wasn't for the fact that some things were just humanly impossible. But he wanted it to last longer, knew that this was his chance to feel alive, scream his heart out and wank to the memory of it for the next week while Bond was on a mission. So when Bond's forearm, strong and muscular, came to his field of vision as the agent wanted to muffle the screams, he bit down. He knew Bond wasn't a masochist, despite the popular belief, and he covered his arm in bites, successfully keeping himself occupied and Bond off the edge.

“Cut it!” Bond growled, but he kept his hand where it was. Q had no energy or brain power to answer, just kept on his muffled moans.

Bond doubted Q even knew about the tears he saw running down his face, he doubted Q knew about anything right now. He was having a hard time keeping track of his lover himself. Even though he knew that that was what Q wanted, to make him forget everything and just fuck as hard as he wanted to, there was always a part of him that kept looking for the signs of too much, because Q couldn't even voice it if the game went too far, not with all the screaming and fighting that usually went on. But he was getting close even through the pain in his arm.

He came shortly after, sinking his teeth into Q's nape, pushing him down and not letting him breathe. After a minute of just lying there, breathing in Q's sweaty scent, he lifted himself up and winced when his spent cock left Q's battered body. Q was trying to push back into his hands, a sign of fight still in his body, and Bond knew exactly how to get him rid of that. He lifted Q's hips just enough to slid his free arm (yes, Q was still active on his right forearm, making it a mess of bruises and teeth marks) and he took him in hand, quickly masturbating him.

Q's orgasm came quickly, shooting all over the bed underneath him, and he collapsed. Bond had to smile when the teeth were replaced by his hot tongue, like he was trying to sooth Bond's wounds while being absolutely destroyed by the man. This is how he liked him – affectionate and sated, reaching his subspace long after anyone else would. This was the reason why they kept wet napkins in the bedside table, so he wouldn't have to leave him to go to the bathroom after sex, and now he took them out and cleaned them both.

“You are a marvel, you know that?” he asked gently, amused, lying next to him, and brushed his sweaty curls out of his forehead. Q just mumbled happily. Bond knew he still must be in pain, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. He knew Q would have hard time staying soft in the morning and in work, still feeling it, and smiled at that, predatory and proud.

He covered them both with a duvet and they fell asleep shortly after.


End file.
